


A Poorly Judged Lesson on Diversity

by curious_eye



Series: Life Lessons [1]
Category: Space Force (TV)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Just a dumb idea that I’m having too much fun with, M/M, OR IS IT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25006240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curious_eye/pseuds/curious_eye
Summary: Tony comes up with an unusual strategy to win over investors who are looking to fund extra Space Force research.He probably isn’t expecting General Naird to use his own tactics against him.
Relationships: Chan Kaifang/F. Tony Scarapiducci
Series: Life Lessons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835575
Comments: 42
Kudos: 82





	1. Playing Cupid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BiblioPan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiblioPan/gifts).



> I wanted to write something a bit fluffier than normal and, combined with some of Bibliopan's suggestions, this has been created. (Thank you for indirectly encouraging my terrible addiction to writing about these two XD )
> 
> I don’t know where it’s going, the premise is stupid but I thought I’d put you all through it as well so I’m not just writing it for myself :p

It had become apparent within weeks of hiring Fuck Tony that he could get things done when he put his mind to it and when he didn’t want to put his mind to it, he wouldn’t. This was an unfortunate trait that he shared with General Naird who would sit for hours planning new training activities for the space men but would prevaricate when faced with planning events.

The upcoming private reception with external investors was the perfect example. Naird needed to get Tony to strategise so that Space Force was more likely to receive further financial backing for their more recent scientific endeavours. Tony needed to stop rolling his eyes whenever it was brought up whilst claiming that a strategy wasn’t necessary.

The event had been planned weeks in advance.

It was two days before when Tony finally broke and brought it up in their daily meeting.

“So, we’ve covered your tweet, which seeing as you delayed our meeting until five pm I had already posted without your permission, and also how I’m meant to engage with people trying to tweet jokes about us without causing a national crisis,” Tony ran his finger down the list of points on his phone. “I guess we’re still ignoring that thing that’s happening tomorrow evening.”

“What thing?” Naird glanced up from the report he had begun to read having sensed Tony’s build up to slipping out of their meeting five minutes early. He frowned for a moment at Tony’s teasingly disapproving expression before consulting his own calendar. “Oh, that thing.”

“I agree, totally boring, who cares,” Tony chipped back in, beginning to stand up and moving slowly as if Naird wouldn’t notice.

“Sit down,” Naird said without looking up, “Let’s talk strategy.” Tony snorted, straightening out his expression when the older man’s attention immediately returned to him.

“We don’t need tactics,” he complained, holding his hand up when Naird moved to interrupt, “Seriously, it’s just our scientists in a room with rich people. They nerd out for a bit, say long words, impress the investors. Simple.”

“The same group of guests are visiting the other armed forces bases within the same week,” Naird stressed, hoping that the other man wouldn’t call him a hypocrite for only making out that the event was important now having ignored it for so long. “It’s about making the best impression we can. We need to choose the people who are attending so that they can sell our plans to the investors.”

“Okay, I’ll play along,” Tony replied, trying to sound bored but leaning forward conspiratorially in his chair, “Current buzzword? Diversity. Companies are tripping over themselves in an attempt to have their names associated with inclusive, representative projects.”

“Meaning?”

“Jesus, do I have to spell it out? You want your image of Space Force to be a snapshot of modern day America.” Tony leant back, holding his hands out to sweep around the room as if they were in the middle of the base. “You want to pick people from all different backgrounds; they can take a plus one, yeah? Throw some same-sex couples into the mix.”

“Tony! I’m not going to-” the general trailed off, fixing Tony with a disapproving expression, “Among many other flaws in this plan, it’s just dishonest to get people to pretend.”

“Who says they’d be pretending? You may think I only manage your Twitter feed but, unlike you, I can operate a phone at a normal speed so that doesn’t take me all day.” Naird opened his mouth to complain when Tony paused for breath, only to get cut off by the other man’s continued indignant rambling, “One of my biggest jobs is making Space Force outwardly inclusive; that means collecting anonymous data from the people _you_ hire to make sure we’re offering equal opportunities.”

“Your point?”

“There must be plenty of scientists who aren’t straight, if the surveys are getting filled out accurately. I happen to know a few.” Tony almost looked proud of himself, especially when Mark furrowed his brow incredulously.

“When do you talk to the scientists?!”

“As I said, you may not see the other stuff I do but I am actually, _normally_ working when you’re busy with other things.” Naird masked an amused snort with a cough, resetting his expression to something more serious.

“But how can you be sure this would work?” He asked honestly, glancing across at the pile of proposals that had made their way to his desk in the last week and knowing that there were more scattered around the room (definitely not in well-chosen hiding places). “I can’t lose out on more funding to the Air Force!”

“Have you ever been in the lab?” Tony retorted, widening his eyes comically again. “My gaydar doesn’t even know what to do in that situation.”

“Gaydar?”

“Okay, now you’re being deliberately clueless.” Naird’s façade cracked a little at Tony’s persistent frustration. He held his hands up guiltily.

“I’ve been in meetings all day. Winding you up at 5 o’clock on a Friday is my only entertainment.”

“So you agree my idea is good?” Tony recovered smoothly, flashing a disarming grin in the general’s direction.

“I have made no indication of that,” Naird quickly interjected, rubbing a hand over his face as he thought through the plan. Tony’s suggestion had been unexpected, considering that he usually just took low shots at the scientists and suggested base-wide lessons on public speaking when planning for similar situations. “We can’t force people to out themselves!”

“We wouldn’t be.” Tony looked bewildered once more, a common expression that passed between the two of them in these meetings. “A lot of them are happily open about it all. Take Chan, for example.”

“Doctor Chan!?” Naird interjected incredulously, his voice dropping instantly, “Tony! He may have told you that in confidence.”

“Yes, I’m sure he’s hoping no one notices the rainbow flag in his pencil pot,” Tony responded, deadpan.

“Other people do that? I’d assumed that was just you.”

“Well done, you’ve managed to prove that you _can_ occasionally be observant,” Tony interjected again, sarcasm still coating his tone.

“What were you saying about Chan?” Naird chose to ignore him, deciding to take the high road and not point out that it was an impressive feat of observation given that Tony’s desk was such a mess. Needless to say, he’d learnt with Tony that there was no use trying to discipline his frequent slip-ups in the respect department.

“Nothing,” Tony replied as if it was obvious, “I was just making the point that there’s people who are happy to be open about that sort of thing.”

“So we put Chan on the list and hope he turns up with a plus one?” Mark asked, wrinkling his nose at the bizarre plan that suddenly seemed to be their main strategy.

“Not just Chan,” Tony replied, again rolling his eyes, “We just pick the group carefully and I’ll send a memo out encouraging people to bring along their partners.” He glanced down at his phone, unlocking the screen for a second. “And I’ve now stayed two minutes later than I was meant to so, you’re welcome.”

“Tony, we’ve talked about the dating habits of my science division more than anything else of actual importance,” Naird pointed out although he didn’t stop the other man from heading for the door. “I hope you’re aware that this event requires your attendance too.”

“Yeah, it’s been clogging up my schedule for weeks,” Tony said, infecting his tone with his usual melodrama, “Who puts these things on at the weekend anyway?” Naird decided to avoid the inevitable stream of complaints he’d have to sit through if he admitted he’d set the date.

“Don’t ask me,” he said instead, directing his attention elsewhere pointedly, knowing that Tony would happily be out of the door once he realised the meeting was officially over. “Maybe you’ll enjoy yourself, seeing the plan in action.”

“Not likely,” Tony muttered under his breath, standing in the open doorway. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”

“Try not to sound so excited,” Mark replied drily. He watched the other man make his escape, the sound of his shoes slapping the staircase as he took every other step ringing around the perpetually empty waiting room. He hadn’t been looking forward to the investor meeting either although he never liked to pass up an opportunity to have some fun of his own. And Tony might have given him the perfect set up.

* * *

The unnecessarily fancy hotel was some distance from the base and a complete pain to get to for all of the Space Force employees. General Naird knew how these functions worked though and was keen to keep the investors, who would be staying there for the night, happy. And if keeping them happy meant sending out less than optional invitations to a group of scientists on the morning of an event happening several miles out of town, then so be it.

It was easy to pick out the investors; smart suits, not a hair out of place and an almost permanent expression of apparent focus but complete lack of understanding on their faces. Most of them were already cornered by one of the scientists handpicked by Tony.

“It might have worked,” Naird suggested to Tony as they congregated at the back of the room. He tried not to sound too impressed, certainly not intending to inflate the other man’s ego. “Everyone seems happy so far.”

“I sent the memo out.” 

“Hmm, good work.” Naird scanned the room distractedly, focusing on the far corner and frowning. “Except your star example over there is very much on his own.”

Tony followed his gaze with a faint frown on his face, the expression only deepening when he noticed Chan. 

“Chan is not my – he was just a person who fit the criteria of the conversation,” he grumbled exasperatedly, lowering his voice further, “I was just proving my point!”

“Come on then.” Naird began to stride confidently towards Chan, glancing over his shoulder at Tony.

“Where are we going?” Tony asked needlessly, swiftly falling into step with the general despite his question.

“Just follow me and shut up for once,” Naird replied through gritted teeth, turning instantly to nod at one of the investors and raising his voice. “Good evening, thank you for coming.”

“A flawless performance, sir,” Tony murmured sarcastically once they were out of earshot. Naird ignored him. “Why are we heading over to Chan?”

“It’s my turn to have an idea,” Naird said cryptically, his stern performance faltering for a moment when Tony looked even more frustrated than normal. He allowed himself a small smirk and continued to lead Tony through the room.

It was a large space, two sets of opposite walls lined with tables weighed down by food. The thirty or so scientists who had been invited were collected in small groups, looking far more stimulated by their own conversations than the investors who were listening half heartedly, still wearing that identifying tag of bemusement. Naird almost felt sorry for the man who was cornered by Doctor Mallory, hating to imagine how deep into the background of his research Adrian would get before the other man could get a word in.

They weaved around the pockets of people until they reached Naird’s target who had clearly just arrived.

“Good evening, sir,” Chan greeted, not quite hiding his discomfort at the formal setting or, it seemed, his tie which he tugged and flattened against his shirt with all of the familiarity of a man who never attended this sort of event. “Sorry I’m late. This place is literally in the middle of nowhere.”

“Doctor Chan.” Naird ignored his apology, getting straight to the point. “I see you didn’t bring a guest.”

“No?” Chan replied slowly, almost seeming unsure of himself. He frowned, his eyes flickering briefly towards Tony, as if he might get an answer from him.

“Right, Tony you stick with Chan,” Naird instructed, dragging Chan’s attention back towards him.

“I’m sorry?” Tony interjected before Chan could likely make the same complaint.

“This was _your_ idea!” Naird retorted under his breath, a shadow of his earlier smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I don’t remember suggesting the part where I get handed to anyone who turned up without a date!” Tony whispered back fiercely, not at all managing to control his volume.

“I’m sorry, what’s going on?” Chan’s head was moving between the two of them, following their verbal tennis match with a clueless frown on his face.

“After a poorly judged lesson on diversity, General Naird is implying that we should pretend that we are… you know…” Tony trailed off, widening his eyes suggestively at Chan and then turning a far less impressed expression on Mark.

“Oh. Ohhhh.” Chan caught on, catching himself almost instantly and frowning once more in Naird’s direction. “What?”

“They’ll lap it up, the people here.” Naird looked distinctly uncomfortable under the heat of both of their gazes but set his posture with authority and waved his hand in the air as if trying to appear like he knew what he was talking about. “You know, young love.”

“We’re not in love,” This time, Chan beat Tony to saying the obvious, sounding so put out by the thought that Tony had to school his expression to remove the offence he seemed to automatically take.

“But you’re both young so you tick half of the boxes,” Naird waved off this rather large flaw in his plan briskly, “I’m sure you can improvise to fulfil the rest of the criteria.”

“For the record, it has not slipped my attention that you are doing exactly what you said you wouldn’t, sir. How’s this for dishonesty?” Tony spun around so he was in front of Naird and no longer at his side, offering his arm to Chan in an overstated gesture that made the other man smile wryly to himself. There was a moment of hesitation but then, to Tony’s surprise, Chan rested his hand in the crook of his arm, only diluting the action by rolling his eyes.

“Young love,” he repeated under his breath, the helpless amusement in his tone almost making Tony laugh, if his focus wasn’t directed solely towards staring daggers at Naird.

“Just mingle,” Naird instructed, shooing them towards the rest of the room. “This gives you a chance to see your plan in action, Tony.” The younger man looked less than thrilled by this prospect, steering Chan away and throwing another glare over his shoulder.

Mark surveyed the room once more, startling slightly when Doctor Mallory appeared at his shoulder.

“Playing Cupid, general?” The chief scientist asked, his mouth tilting upwards as he spoke.

Mark had the decency to bury his own smirk beneath a tight lipped expression, still watching the two younger men integrate themselves into a conversation, seeming to be bickering with each other even as Tony's hand drifted to press against Chan’s back.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”


	2. One-Up Me

It didn’t take long for the combination of other company and conversations concerning his research for Chan to become less aware of the weight pressing lightly against his back. Tony was a difficult man to judge and it seemed unclear if he was playing a part or just trying to have fun with the predicament Naird had landed the two of them in. Chan tried to concentrate on explaining his research to someone who looked vaguely more interested than the rest instead of the warmth on his back or, more correctly, the way the warmth had spread slowly like a ripple through his body.

Fuck Tony wasn’t someone he was meant to like. He shouldn’t even get on with a man who thought you could cure ageing by stealing the blood of ‘the best babies’ and making a serum out of it. He should barely be able to tolerate someone who crept around the lab like a bomb was going to go off because he thought there were people wearing invisibility cloaks in there. He shouldn’t have been even slightly happy about Naird’s instruction when it involved being joined at the hip to someone who appeared obnoxiously ambitious and full of bad ideas.

There was something though. A spark or a light or whatever people who were better at _feeling_ things were describing it as nowadays. A floating sensation in his stomach every time Tony smiled genuinely, leaving behind that false, public expression for something unsuppressed when he laughed at a joke or even just saw Chan smile himself.

He seemed strangely perceptive as well, dragging Chan away to the table of food when he sensed the other man losing interest in the conversation or just searching for a way out to take a break. They segregated themselves in the corner of the room, stealing food off of each other’s plates regularly. Tony seemed amused by the whole event, captivated by watching the awkward exchanges between scientists and investors.

“It’s just so pointless,” he mused, almost sounding gleeful about this fact, “They have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“Yeah, but they have to pretend they know what they’re throwing their money at. Even if it’s just to get their name associated with research that benefits the country or whatever,” Chan responded, consenting to the last chocolate strawberry on his plate going missing with nothing more than an exaggerated, pointed sigh. Tony grinned in return, looking away to survey the room once more.

“Still, it’s a total waste of time,” he stuck to his point, glancing back at Chan and watching him adjust the knot around his collar for the umpteenth time. “Nice tie by the way.”

“It’s not mine,” Chan said sheepishly, glancing down at the fabric and wrinkling his nose, “Doctor Mallory leant it to me. I don’t wear ties.” There was a twitch fleeting across Tony’s face at his overly disgusted tone but he was careful not to laugh outright, noting the warning frown on Chan’s face.

“That man has a real sense of style,” Tony quipped, making it impossible to tell if he meant what he was saying. “If we’d been warned about this in advance I would have made an effort to match.” Chan groaned and shook his head.

“I refuse to take part in something like that,” he retorted swiftly, “Add that to our backstory. We are not, _ever_ , a couple that does that shit.”

“I mean we’re not a couple at all but you seem more hung up on the coordinated outfits thing so-” Tony held his hands up in mock surrender, the gesture becoming genuine when he was forced to duck away from Chan’s swatting hand.

“I hate this sort of thing,” Chan announced a moment later, waving his arm in the direction of the other people in the room. There was a pause, bracketed by a pointed look from Tony and another sigh of his own. “Fine, I hate having to dress up to be taken seriously. Just let me do my research in peace and I’ll name a rat after you.”

“I wouldn’t mention your plans to do that to any of the investors,” Tony replied with a snort, “I think most of them had their sights set higher. Like a rocket or something.”

“Like that would end well,” Chan said, modulating his voice to impersonate a newsreader. “Breaking news: insert investor’s name here has just exploded over Colorado.” Tony laughed again, taking Chan’s plate from him and stacking it on top of his own, looking like he was preparing to drag Chan unhappily back to the actual event.

“Aah, the two lovebirds.” Doctor Mallory’s amused tone intercepted his preparations, only prompting Chan to look even more aggravated. “Hiding yourselves away in the corner to have some alone time, are we?”

“I’m going to quit my job,” Chan murmured under his breath, “I’m just going to leave and go somewhere that doesn’t do dumb things like this.”

“We’re having a lovely time,” Tony spoke over him, pulling him against his side with a hand around his shoulder. He went stiffly, trying to hate the feeling of being close enough to smell the faint scent of cologne on the other man.

“This is your master plan, I hear,” Mallory continued, choosing to ignore Chan’s hushed complaints. Tony bowed dramatically, displaying his impressive ability to entirely ignore the sarcasm in the older man’s voice. Chan tried not to miss the feeling of Tony pulling the two of them together. “And why did anyone think it was a good idea.”

“Diversity,” Chan replied, forcing some disdain into his tone. He had to remind himself that this was a one night, bit of fun for Tony. The man who had a reputation for flirting with anyone who looked in the wrong direction was hardly going to making an exception over him. Chan was used to rolling his eyes at Tony’s antics; when he followed that publicist around for a day and then spent the next week looking like a kicked puppy because she was obviously only ever trying to lead him on, for example. There was little more to do than shake your head and get on with something else; Chan wasn’t jealous, he wasn’t bothered and he certainly wasn’t pining after the other man with his colourful ties and boundless enthusiasm.

“Diversity?” Doctor Mallory echoed, raising an eyebrow and dragging Chan’s attention back to the present, his mood suitably soured.

“I hear you didn’t have that in your day,” Tony quipped, surprisingly causing a wry smile to cross Adrian’s face.

“It was rather lacking,” he agreed, “Although I was under the impression that we were heading back towards that given the current state of the country.”

“I wouldn’t let General Naird hear you talking politics,” Chan scolded, shaking his head in mock disappointment and widening his eyes exaggeratedly, “Especially not around the investors.” Mallory blew out a breath discontentedly through pursed lips and cast his eyes around the room.

“It’s not like they’ve listened to anything else I’ve said all evening,” he retorted eventually, “Not that I expect that to harm our funding chances. Everyone seems rather keen to get on board with our projects whilst it’s all new and exciting.”

“Boring,” Tony groaned, “We came over to this corner to get away from that shit. By the way, has anyone worked out why I actually have to be here? Naird said it was the sort of thing I’m meant to attend but I haven’t seen a single reason for that yet.”

Doctor Mallory smirked to himself for a moment, briefly glancing at Chan, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses before shrugging dismissively.

“Haven’t a clue,” he replied drily, “However, Doctor Chan is meant to be here and he is supposed to be talking to the investors.” He aimed this remark at Tony as if the other man was suddenly responsible for dragging Chan around for the rest of the evening against his own will. Chan rolled his eyes again, letting Doctor Mallory walk away, seemingly satisfied.

“Come on,” Tony tempted after a moment. He tilted his head on one side, obviously aiming to look beseeching. Chan was determined that an expression like that would never persuade him to leave the corner he had permanently set up camp in. “Let’s make it into a game. Naird wants us to be a couple, right? We’re going to be the best damn couple in the room.”

“What?” Chan asked despairingly, “Why?” So far he had consented to having Tony stand next to him, hand occasionally ghosting across his back. He’d avoided all small-talk around personal life, pretty much forcing Tony to stand silently the entire time.

“For fun?” Tony answered slowly, shaking his head sympathetically as if realising Chan had never heard of such a thing, “Because you look like you want to leave already and I know we’re definitely not going to get away with that for at least another hour.”

“One hour?” Chan repeated firmly, feeling like he could probably survive that long being a part of whatever game it was Tony wanted to play.

“One hour,” Tony said, flashing another smile that mellowed into something too genuine for Chan who remained stubborn in his determination not to let any untoward feelings get in the way of this work event. “Promise.”

“And this game?” he asked suspiciously, frowning deeper when Tony’s hand rested against his back. He tilted his head down and lowered his voice conspiratorially to answer.

“One-up me,” he murmured, his following grin not quite enough to dilute the prickling of Chan’s hairs standing on end. He was continually oblivious, tugging Chan forwards and looking blissfully cheerful again. “Come on!”

Over the course of the evening they seemed to have moved in together; acquired two cats, one of which was a stray that Chan had rescued on his way home from work (in Tony’s words: ‘he’s a real hero’); developed the habit of spending their weekends taking part in increasingly more ridiculous couple’s activities but still were certainly not, _ever_ the sort of people to coordinate their outfits.

They eventually walked out to the car park together, each attempting to one-up each other’s displays of chivalry, even without an audience, frequently rendering them stationary in the empty gardens of the hotel as one of them doubled over to laugh.

There was no one around when they reached Chan’s car. The scientist removed Tony’s blazer from where it had ended up draped haphazardly over his shoulders in the latest round of their competition and passed it back to the taller man whose eyes had drifted to the ground in a moment of quiet.

There was no one around when Chan stepped closer to him, kissing his cheek and retreating swiftly, ready to play it off as just another attempt to put on the best display of ‘young love.’ But when Tony glanced back up, there was an unusually small smile playing across his face, something more tender than his usual mischievous grins and amused smirks. It made Chan forget to wave it off, only able to smile slightly sheepishly in reply.

Tony closed the distance between them once more, seeming to contemplate his options as he tucked the permanently unruly strand of hair that never seemed to be in the right place back behind Chan’s ear.

“I don’t think that beats me,” Chan murmured cheekily, grinning at Tony as he rolled his eyes.

“No?” He checked, crowding slightly closer so that his breath left behind a warmth across Chan’s face.

“No, come on,” Chan teased lightly, “One-up me.” Tony was kissing him almost before he finished the dare, moving with a hunger that was swiftly tempered by the softness of his lips against Chan’s. There was something sweet about the hand that brushed Chan’s waist, a gentle, almost calming disposition from the most unlikely source.

“Tony Scarapiducci,” Chan muttered once the other man withdrew, failing to not sound surprised even as he continued to joke. “What a gentleman.” Tony held his hand against his chest, trying his best to look wounded.

“Fuck you,” he retorted lightly. Chan smirked victoriously.

“And he ruins it in a record three seconds.” He held his hands up, spinning to survey the car park as if it was filled with spectators. “Ladies and gentlemen, Fuck Tony forfeits the round to Doctor Chan Kaifang.”

“Round?” Tony echoed, grinning coyly, “Not the entire match?”

“We could start with a best of three,” Chan replied, biting his lip to hold back another smile when Tony shifted back in front of him. “See where we go from there.”

“My money’s on you letting me win next time,” Tony murmured lowly, his hands resting on Chan’s shoulders.

“Why’s that?” Chan asked, more than happy to wait for an answer when Tony chose to first kiss him once more. He started to move away, prompting Chan to hold him in place, hands tugging lightly on his suit jacket. He smelt faintly of aftershave, the scent registering with Chan for the first time since they’d been close inside and lingering for far longer. He could just about taste the chocolate strawberries Tony had continued to steal from the buffet table every time they’d passed it that evening.

“I think you’d rather get a third time doing this than win two-nil,” Tony’s voice was a whisper across Chan’s face, the taller man barely withdrawing to speak. One corner of Chan's mouth lifted lopsidedly and he nodded along with the idea.

“Yeah and then I’ll beat you the third time and win overall anyway – win-win,” he replied coyly. Normally he wouldn’t have seen through the front of arrogance that he’d have put a confident comment like that down to but Tony was too close now, his eyes bright and soft at the same time as they stood in the less than romantic setting of the car park. Despite the backdrop, he seemed reluctant to draw away, reluctant for whatever this was to be over. Chan wasn’t complaining.

“I’m not saying I’ll make it easy but I wouldn’t have any complaints if it went that way,” Tony grinned, darting forwards to reconnect their lips in an instant and then withdrawing as if some sense of self control had finally won out over whatever spell had inspired their impulsive actions up to that point. He glanced around fleetingly, his eyes always returning to their meticulous mapping of Chan’s face. “The general will be insufferably smug if he finds out about this.”

“New game,” Chan proposed, watching Tony start to grin already, “The first person who is responsible for Naird finding out loses.”

“You’re on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to have no plan with this. Does this feel like a conclusion? If not, where does it go from here? I don’t know but I am definitely still having too much fun XD


	3. Keeping Up Appearances

Chan had partially expected to wake up the day after the investor event and realise that his overactive imagination had created the car park scenario just to torture him. You didn’t have to be close to Tony to know he never seemed to land himself in a proper relationship. Not for want of trying, on his part. But he had more of a reputation of failed courting than successful dating. 

Despite all of this, they had successfully navigated their way through several situations that Chan would consider to be dates (successfully may have been an overstatement).

There had been the attempted hike, 

(“It’s just walking up hills for no reason!” 

“Actually, there are some really interesting plant specimens-” 

“Oh my god! I didn’t think this could get worse!”)

the time they tried to stargaze… in Tony’s dusty backyard… without any sort of rug,

(“So you’re saying if you connect that one, that one-”

“No not that one, _that_ one.”

“Fine. And it looks like what?”

“The twitter logo.”

“ _Tony_ , seriously? You could have just said a bird.”

“But it’s not just any bird. See, that’s the wing…”)

and, when they somehow hadn’t given up on each other after that, the conspiratorial lunches during work.

(“Did he see you coming in here?”

“I’m assuming by ‘he’ you mean General Naird?”

“Duh, who else?”

“No, he didn’t. And if he did, it wouldn’t even look that weird.”

“Oh because you coming in here with a sandwich hidden in your lab coat pocket isn’t at all suspicious.”

“It may be suspicious, but it’s definitely not romantic.”

“We could try stargazing again…”)

All in all, it was at least a little dysfunctional. But Chan found himself secretly enjoying Tony’s rants about social media or how he could do a better job of promoting any other company on the planet than the person who was actually responsible. He also sensed a similar attitude in Tony towards his habit of rambling about science, all too frequently losing his train of thought when he felt fond eyes watching him. He quietly suspected that Tony was trialing his disarming gaze in an attempt to shut him up but decided to conduct some further tests before he shared his conclusions. In the meantime, he’d enjoy bathing in the soft admiration Tony aimed in his direction.

In between all of this there was the game. Or games, plural. It quickly became apparent that simultaneously trying to one-up each other’s romantic gestures whilst trying to hide all of it from Naird had made things much harder.

They occasionally made a truce to share tactics, the scale of gesture required to surpass the last getting constantly magnified.

“I have a question,” Tony rested his elbows on the table Chan was working at one afternoon, waiting patiently as he finished analysing a sample at the back of the lab. “A hypothetical, in fact.”

“Wow, you’re using big words today,” Chan teased distractedly, turning away from his computer to be greeted by an unimpressed glare. He flashed a smile at Tony, knowing how to get him to crack.

“Anyway,” Tony continued regardless, “I have an idea but if it isn’t going to one-up you, I’m going back to the drawing board because it’s going to take some serious effort.” Chan tilted his head curiously, feeling his mouth flicker at the corners at Tony’s overly focused tone.

“Hit me,” he replied, holding a finger up quickly, “Although, if it isn’t a surprise anymore, it might affect your chances.” Tony seemed to be genuinely contemplating his options for a moment. Chan rolled his eyes affectionately whilst the other man couldn’t see, almost turning back to carry on working as Tony mulled his ultimatum over. At the last second, he caught sight of General Naird entering the lab, an idea of his own building as he set his briefly conspiratorial expression neutrally.

“A serenade,” Tony said triumphantly, blissfully unaware of Naird who had started to approach them. Chan bit the inside of his mouth to keep himself from giving everything away, determined to keep the other man talking and finally win one of their competitions.

“Tell me more,” he encouraged, partly curious to see where this idea was going anyway.

“You can’t deny it’s not better than throwing rocks at my window at midnight on a _Tuesday_ , only to admit when you did wake me up that you hadn’t planned anything to say,” Tony argued strongly, a point which Chan had to concede. He continued to be glad that the slightly too heavy pebble he’d chosen hadn’t smashed the window entirely.

It had been a week since the rock throwing incident. Chan knew it had been a week because Tony had brought it up seven times since; once every day. Every time he did, Chan relived the same feeling of relief that had consumed him at the time when he had in fact chosen the correct house in the darkness to bombard with stones.

It had taken several attempts to actually hit the right window, his frustration definitely fuelling the more forceful, riskier throws. And all of that had indeed culminated in the underwhelming conclusion of his lacking dramatic speech.

(“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“We have work tomorrow. There better be a great romantic reason for waking me up.”

“I hadn’t thought ahead to this bit.”

“Well, improvise then.”

“Romeo, Romeo…”

“Jesus Christ.”)

“Ok, what’s so time consuming about your plan?” Chan half-listened to Tony, letting his eyes drift over his shoulder just for a moment and seeing Naird almost directly behind him.

“-so I’d need to learn how to play the guitar,” Tony was explaining, about to launch into another line of reasoning when he was interrupted.

“Tony? Are you distracting my scientists again?” Naird asked exasperatedly. Tony’s eyes widened in surprise momentarily and then he was back to glaring at Chan, shaking his head accusingly.

“No,” he tried hopefully, turning to face Naird as the older man sighed helplessly.

“Why are you talking about guitars anyway?” He asked after a moment, the pause evidence that he had clearly contemplated the value of even posing the question.

“The – err,” Tony floundered for an excuse, eyes lighting up triumphantly. “Tension. In the strings. You obviously need tension.” He stopped when Naird raised an eyebrow, shaking his head one more time and walking away without even getting to the point of his visit. Tony tried to justify it quietly one more time as he left. “Come on, it’s science.”

“That was such a lame excuse!” Chan complained incredulously once the general was our of earshot. “I can’t believe he just walked away.” He looked back over at Tony, met by narrowed eyes.

“You little-” 

Chan grinned, the way his face lit up so gleefully making Tony stop midway through his sentence, mock frustration melting into something else that made it look like he was stopping himself from losing the match there and then with an unwise decision.

“That’s not fair,” he said unhappily instead. “I didn’t realise we were allowed to play dirty.”

“I didn’t realise you cared so much about winning,” Chan retorted jokingly, resting his chin on his palm and mustering a falsely sweet smile. “Now tell me more about your plans to learn guitar for me.” Tony groaned, throwing his hands up helplessly and retreating towards the front of the lab.

Chan turned back to his work, satisfied that he’d almost won in style and, failing that, he was potentially getting a song of questionable quality written for him.

* * *

It was a couple of weeks before General Naird made another appearance.

At the end of the day, Chan had gone to Tony’s office where he attempted to pull the other man away from his work so they could leave on time.

“You’re the one who wanted to get out of here at the right time today,” he complained plaintively, pushing some of the clutter to one side and sitting on the corner of the desk, swinging his legs as he faced the open doorway, looking back to watch Tony glance up from a page dotted with ideas in bubbles. Chan stopped himself from laughing; only Tony would continue to use mind maps for his actual job.

“Okay, I’m ready,” he said distractedly, pausing to jot down another note as Chan sighed dramatically. After his pen was back on the desk he turned the paper over pointedly, directing his full attention towards Chan. “I’m actually ready now.”

“Good,” Chan said, “I’m starving.” Tony stood up, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn and walked around the desk, standing in front of Chan and kissing him briefly.

“Come on then,” he nodded towards the door, “If you’re in _such a rush_ -”

He’d moved maybe a step when he froze at the sound of a cleared throat at the door. Chan bit his upper lip to contain a laugh as the taller man screwed his eyes closed. He didn’t need to see over Tony’s shoulder to see who they both knew was at the door. Tony awkwardly shuffled another couple of steps back, seeming to believe that Chan would be hidden behind him.

“Sir,” he said, his tone falsely bright. As soon as he’d finished speaking he was mouthing indecipherable words at Chan who struggled to keep a straight face.

“Tony,” Naird greeted in return, “I just came by to return that report to you.”

“Oh, you can just leave that-”

“On your desk?” Naird finished helpfully, an uncharacteristic hint of amusement behind his stoic tone.

“No,” Tony drew out the syllable, still standing awkwardly with his back to Naird. “Just where you are is fine.”

“On the floor?” Naird asked, his bemused expression evident in his voice. Chan could make out the general over Tony’s shoulder, bending down and dropping the folder at the door of the office. “Just there?”

“Yeah,” Tony replied, shaking his head minutely to himself.

“So, what’s going on here?” Naird finally posed the question Chan had been anticipating. They both answered simultaneously.

“Keeping up appearances, sir.”

“Sustained diversity,” Tony offered weakly, looking like he wished he’d let Chan answer but then growing comically sure of himself even as Chan smirked, “It’s important that it isn’t something that only happens in the public eye, sir.”

“Right,” Naird replied, regaining control of his usually unflappable composure, “Very good.” Chan heard his carefully regimented footsteps disappearing down the corridor, the sound fading as Tony’s shoulders deflated.

“That wasn’t my fault,” he said instantly, maintaining the severity of his expression for mere seconds before grinning faintly at Chan’s amusement.

“Well it wasn’t mine either,” Chan retorted, pushing his glasses up his nose and readjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder.

“I suppose we can call it a draw.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I’m happy with this being the end. I might make some little oneshots of the actual dates and things if I get ideas though because these two make me happy XD


End file.
